Jane Watson, Army Doctor
by Ishipit24
Summary: Jane Watson recently moved to London, and meets a certain consulting detective. Just your average Sherlock fem!John story, but with a little twist. Rated T to be safe, as the show is questionable itself.
1. A New Beginning

**So, it's been awhile since I published anything new. Sorry about that, but I've been a bit distracted and unfocused lately. I finished the one-act play for my school a little bit ago, we just started working on a middle school musical, I've had a lot of homework, and I've been way too tired. But I'm back now, and trying to write more. Here's the beginning, hopefully I'll get it to the end.**

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_A few more minutes of peace, please,_ I think as I spot my old friend Mike in the park. I try and avoid him, but he calls my name.

"Jane? Jane Watson?" He calls after me. I can't do anything but turn and acknowledge him. "I thought you were abroad, getting shot at. What happened?"

"I got shot," I say shortly, annoyed.

"Oh." A few minutes later, and we're sipping coffee on a bench.

"So, are you staying in town until you get sorted out?" He asks, looking over to me.

"You know I can't afford London on an army pension." He stays silent for a minute.

"You could ask Harry for help."

"Yeah, cause that's a fantastic idea," I say sarcastically. "You know we don't get along."

"You could find a flatmate?" He suggests again.

"Who would want me for a flatmate?" He just smiles.

"You know, you're the second person to say that to me today." I look to him in confusion.

"Who was the first?"

* * *

**Short, but also just an introduction. We all now how this story goes, but this is a bit different. Sorry about the cliffhanger, there's another chapter coming up shortly.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	2. The Meeting

**TIME SKIIIIIPP! ****(Sorry, I couldn't resist.)**

* * *

I follow Mike into one of the labs at Bart's. I notice a tall, thin man standing at a microscope. He stands with grace, though he doesn't react when the door opens._ Sociopath, _is all I can think of.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? Mine won't work down here," he asks, without looking at us.

"There's always the landline," Mike states, walking towards the living mystery.

"I prefer to text, you know that."

"Well, you're out of luck. I left it upstairs."

"You can use mine," I offer, earning his attention. He stands still for a moment, staring at me, before he reaches for my phone. He flips it open before saying anything.

"This is an old friend of mine, Jane Watson," Mike announces.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The question catches me off-guard.

"What?" I ask, making him smirk.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" He asks again.

"Afghanistan. How did you know that?" At this moment, the door opens again and a lady carrying coffee walks in.

"Ah, Molly. Coffee, Thank you," the man says to her. "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me," she smiles slightly.

"Really, I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too... small now," he takes a sip and walks back to his microscope. She lowers her head in defeat, starting for the door.

"Don't believe him," I mutter to her as she passes, earning a smile. Once she's out of the room, I glare at the man. "You could have been a little nicer. It's obvious she cares for you and yet you're being a tosser." His head flies up at this statement. He looks back down almost immediately, trying to cover himself.

"How do you feel about the violin? I play the violin when I'm thinking, will that bother you?" He asks, staring at a sheet of paper.

"I think the violin is lovely, thanks!" I yell angrily. "What does this have to with anything at the present moment?"

"Potential flatmates should know the worst of each other," he comments.

"Who said anything about flatmates?" I ask again, my patience wearing thin.

"I did, to Mike this morning. Told him I'm difficult to find a flatmate for, and here he is right after lunch with an old friend who's clearly back home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."

"About Afghanistan, how did you know that?"

"I've got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." I cringe slightly at riding crop, but continue to badger him as he walks towards the door.

"That's it then? I know nothing about you, you know _everything _about me, and we're gonna look at flat."

"Oh, but I _do_ know everything about you. You're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan.I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help. Which means you don't approve of him- possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He finishes, walking to the door. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street, afternoon." He winks at me before walking out of the room.

"Did he just-?" I turn to Mike.

"Remind you of someone?" He asks in return, smirking.

"Shut up, you knob."

* * *

**Okay, now we're getting somewhere! If you're at all confused at anything, send me a message or review or something. I'll try and clear it up for you. I'm really proud of how this is turning out, and I hope you're still with me on this!**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	3. Moving In

**Hey, it's me again! Sorry I keep posting these so close together, but I'm on Easter Break from school and have been typing a lot for this story. I hope it's as good as I think it is. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Hello again," I hear from behind me. I just knocked on the door of the address I received yesterday, 221b Baker Street. Sherlock was just stepping out of a cab.

"Sherlock," I nod politely. "This is a prime spot, must be expensive."

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, is giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"You stopped the man from being killed?" I ask, not believing it.

"Oh, no, I insured it." He smiles as the door opens. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Hello, Sherlock dear. Who's your friend?" She winks at me, making me blush unconsciously.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Jane Watson." He avoids Mrs. Hudson's hug and heads inside. Instead of going in as well, she grabs me in a tight embrace.

"It might not look like it, but he could really use a friend these days," she whispers in my ear.

"I'll try my best." She lets me go and leads me upstairs. In the flat sits piles and piles of stuff, papers strewn around the room._ Hasn't moved out yet, _no, _just moved in._ Sherlock stands by the fireplace, rearranging a few things._ "_This could be nice, really nice."

"My thoughts exactly. So, I went ahead and moved in," he tells me, not looking around

"I knew it." I smile as he turns around in confusion. "I thought, since it was messy, someone hasn't moved out or already moved in. And your computer is open to your website."

"You-" he starts.

"I know, I'm good." He steps closer, almost too close for comfort. I'm forced to tilt my head up to see him, straining my neck.

"You. I know you but I don't _know _you," he whispers, leaning in even closer. "What are you?"

"Claustrophobic. If you could step back a little, thanks." He turns away as if nothing happened, taking his coat off. I take mine off as well, placing it on one of the armchairs

"So, Miss Watson," Mrs, Hudson starts. "There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two."

"Of course we'll need two, why would we not need two?" She doesn't pay attention, just walks into the kitchen.

"Sherlock, the mess you've made."

"Just ignore her, she doesn't know anything," he comments. "She's not my housekeeper!" He calls after her.

"How about these suicides then, Sherlock?" She asks, ignoring the statement. "Three all the same-"

"Four," Sherlock interrupts, looking out of the window. "There's been a fourth, but something is different this time." Soon, a man bursts in, panting for breath. "Where?"

"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens."

"What's different? You wouldn't come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"They left a note. Will you come?"

"Who's on Forensics?"

"Anderson."

"Anderson won't work with me."

"He won't be your assistant."

"I _need _an assistant!" He insists.

"Will you come?" He asks for a final time. Sherlock pauses, in thought.

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind." The man nods and runs down the stairs again.

"What was that about?" I ask, turning back to Sherlock as he puts his coat back on.

"He needs me to look at a body. I'll be back tonight, don't wait up." He walks out the door without another word.

"Okay, I'll just stay here," I say to myself, sitting down.

"Would you like some tea, dear?" She asks from the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Just this once, I'm not your housekeeper." I smile a little as she says this.

"I know, I know. By the way, I'm a doctor, maybe I should take a look at that hip." I realize what I said as she walks back into the room.

"How did you know about my hip?" She asks, putting her hand on her hip.

"Lucky guess?" I try to convince her, but it doesn't work. Thankfully, the kettle screams, drawing her back into the kitchen.

"You're good," I jump and see Sherlock in the doorway, standing passively.

"Thanks, I try." He smirks a little, stepping into the room a bit more.

"You're an army doctor." He realizes.

"Yep."

"So you've seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths."

"Kinda in the job description."

"Bit of trouble too I bet."

"Enough for a lifetime." He stands silent for a moment.

"Want to see some more?" I smile.

"Oh, God yes." He motions with his arm for me to follow him. I grab my coat and run after, slamming the door closed.

* * *

**I originally had this written how I wanted, but as I was copying it I changed a lot. A bit too much... ****Oh well! At least now there aren't as many plot holes. Fun fact: Sherlock and Jane were supposed to be romantically involved in the future, but now I have to change it. I forgot for awhile that Sherlock's asexual, and I don't really want to change that for the sake of the story. If you really want them to be romantically involved, tell me somehow so I can write it in before it's too late.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	4. Taxi Ride

**Thanks for your constructive reviews for all of you who did! I realize now what I'm going to do, and just develop the relationship only slower than before. I feel very confident with this story and I hope it continues to be successful. **

* * *

"Okay, you've got questions," Sherlock says, breaking the silence. I turn away from the window and look at him.

"We're going to a crime scene?" He nods. "I haven't been to one of these in years! Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective, but police don't go to private detectives. They don't consult amateurs, but you're not an amateur. I don't know, what are you?" I finish, earning a smirk.

"Consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"Okay, Mr. Smart Man. If you're so clever-"

"I am so clever."

"Tell me how you knew about Afghanistan." He sits in the silence for a moment, thinking.

"The way you hold yourself says military. You're an old friend with Mike, possibly back when he was learning at Bart's. Your confirmation earlier today proved I was right, you're a doctor, army doctor to be exact. You're face is tanned but not tanned above the wrists. You've been abroad, not sunbathing. This limits me to two options, Afghanistan or Iraq."

"Anything about my brother?" I challenge him again.

"Your phone is expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. You were looking for a flat share, you wouldn't waste money on this, so it's a gift then. Scratches, not one but many over time. Been in the same pocket as keys and coins. Chances are you wouldn't treat a luxury item like this, so previous owner. Then there's the engraving- Harry Watson. Clearly a family member, but not a father. This is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. You probably don't have any extended family, at least not that you're close to. Brother it is. And Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment, expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. The model's only six months old, so it's been given to them recently. He would have kept it if she left him. No, he wanted rid of it, he left her. So he gave it to you, hoping to keep in touch. You need a place to stay and you're not going to your brother for help. Says you have a problem with him, probably because of his drinking."

"Drinking?" I interrupt, making him glare at me.

"I was getting there. Tiny scuffs around the charger hole, result of being plugged in with unsteady hands. Never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never on a drunk's without."

"Amazing. Absolutely fantastic," I praise him.

"You think so?" He looks at me skeptically.

Yes. Brilliant, but wrong."

"Wrong? What's wrong about it?"

"Harry doesn't drink, and neither do I. Those tiny scratches are just us trying to plug it in, but missing. Everyone has those marks, on almost every gadget." He looks up in thinking, then makes an 'o' with his mouth. "It's alright though, you did brilliantly. Whenever I do something like that, people just calls me names. Like freak." He looks to me with a softened gaze, but quickly covers it.

"People don't usually compliment me like that."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off." He smiles towards me again before looking out the window, launching us back into silence.

* * *

**I know it's short, but so is this scene. The next one should be a lot longer, I didn't really plan any pauses until the end of the episode! (oops) I'll try and break it up, and hopefully have it up soon. See you then!**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	5. Brixton

**I'm SO sorry this chapter is so late! I got caught up with the end of the school year (yay) and the start of summer school PE (boo). I also sorta forgot, but I'm trying to finish this. I have a lot to go if I want to finish where I wanted, at least a dozen more chapters at this rate. I'm trying my best, as always, and I hope it turns out decent. Sorry this is short, but I don't have specific spots to stop during the episode. Hope you like it, and see you on the other side.**

* * *

"Did I get anything else wrong?" Sherlock asks as the cab pulls away, leaving us on the corner.

"Harry and me have never gotten along. Clara and Harry split up about three months ago, getting a divorce," I tell him, starting for the crime scene.

"Almost spot on, then. Wow, I expected to get more wrong than just the drinking."

"Harry is short for Harriet." He stops walking all together, realizing what I meant.

"Harry's your sister! There's always something." He starts walking again. I start to go beneath the police tape, but a woman stops me.

"Sorry, you can't come in here-" She pauses, looking at Sherlock. "Hello freak."

"Don't call him that," I whisper to myself, making her look at me for a moment.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock states.

"Why?" The woman asks, irritated.

"I was invited."

"Why?" She asks again.

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

"Hi, Jane Watson," I interrupt.

"This is Sergeant Donovan. Donovan, Jane Watson."

"I'm a colleague of Sherlock's." She turns to him.

"Colleague? How did you get a colleague?"

"I looked passed his quirks, and I don't call him freak." I glower at her. She stays silent as I duck under the tape. "Nice meeting you, Sergeant."

"Sherlock's here," I hear her say behind me as I start for the crime scene. "Bringing him in." Sherlock runs to catch me, matching my strides.

"Thank you," he says, unemotionally. I turn and smile up at him.

"You're welcome." He smiles a little in return, but it soon drops from his face.

"Ah, Anderson." A man comes walking towards us, pulling gloves off his hands.

"This is a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated, are we clear on that?" The man looks over at me, finally noticing me. "Hello, who are you?" He asks flirtatiously. _Affair._

"Jane Watson, but it doesn't matter. Is you're wife away for long?" I respond sweetly.

"Who told you I'm married?" He sounds intrigued, but I know better than to fall for it.

"Your deodorant told me that. Sherlock, what would you say about his deodorant?" I turn slightly to look at him.

"It's for men," he replies shortly.

"Of course it's for men, I'm wearing it!" Anderson yells angrily at Sherlock.

"So's Sergeant Donovan." His face goes pale, looking over at Donovan.

"Oh, look, it's vaporized," I comment jokingly, smiling. "Come along, Holmes. There's a crime scene." Sherlock follows me as I start into the building.

"How the hell did she know all of that?" I hear Donovan whisper behind me. I abandon Sherlock and turn back to them.

"Did you ever think there's more to a person than how they look, or how they act?" I ask them, making them go silent. "Well, then maybe you should start." They say nothing, but stand where they are. I turn around again and head into the building. Sherlock stands waiting for me at the base of the stairs. I start to walk up, but he pulls at my wrist for me to stop. I turn to look at him, silently asking him what he was doing. He stands still for a moment before moving closer, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

"Um, Sherlock?" I ask after a few moments. He lets go of me almost immediately.

"Right, the crime scene. Sorry about that." He says, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other.

"No, there was nothing wrong with it, but why?" He looks reluctant to answer, but he clears his throat.

"You stood up for me, twice in twenty four hours. It's not every day someone does that for me, so thank you." I give him a small smile as a few footsteps boom from upstairs.

"Sherlock! You coming up or what?" A voice calls down to us.

"Right, come on. No use standing around when a murderer is on the loose," Sherlock tells me, sharing my smile. He grabs my hand and runs up the stairs, leaving behind any shred of doubt I had about this Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**There you go, another one! Remember, I'm trying, and I'll see you soon with the next one.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	6. The Crime Scene

**I'm so sorry this is so late! I've been really distracted lately, and I haven't been that inspired to write. Here's this short one to tide you over for now, and I'll get the next one up soon.**

* * *

When we reach the floor that the body is on, everyone is staring at us. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, as Sherlock grips my hand tightly to his. I try to pull away and put some space between us, but he doesn't have it, pulling me towards a familiar face.

"Who's this?" He asks, not remembering me from earlier.

"She's with me," Sherlock states.

"Yeah, but who is she?" He asks again.

"With me." Sherlock finally lets my hand go, going for some gloves.

"I'm Jane Watson," I introduce myself, holding my hand out for him to shake. He takes it hesitantly, looking me up and down.

"Lestrade. Why are you here?" He suddenly asks, annoyed.

"Why are you here?" I retaliate, pulling my hand from his.

"I'm Detective Inspector, it's my job to be here!" He raises his voice, making me flinch away slightly. I recover quickly, standing my ground.

"And I'm Sherlock's flatmate, he asked me to be here so I am! Get it through your thick skull that a girl can do what you can do, except even better." He stands there speechless for a moment, then swallows thickly.

"Th-the body's this way," he stutters, pointing us into the room.

"Thank you," I nod curtly, passing him.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long, couple of kids found her," Lestrade fills us in as we all enter the room. Sherlock gets down to examine the body, and I follow his every movement. I make mental notes every time his hands run over the body.

_Jacket wet, collar dry. Umbrella unused. Jewelry clean, wedding ring dirty._

"So, are you and Sherlock a-" Lestrade begins, but I don't let him finish.

"Shut up, I'm paying attention."

_Shiny interior, regularly removed. Serial adulterer._

"So, Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asks, snapping me out of my thinking.

"She's German. RACHE is german for revenge, I think she's trying to-" Anderson starts from the doorway.

"I'm sorry, is your name Watson? Didn't think so, but thank you for your input," I tell him with a hint of sarcasm as he backs away from the room. "Serial Adulterer," I tell Sherlock. The beginnings of a small smile form, but it instantly drops from his face.

"So," Sherlock starts, looking at Lestrade. "Where's her case?"

"What case?" He asks in return.

"What? There has to be a case." I object.

"There wasn't one when we got here."

"But- but-" Sherlock stutters before shutting himself up.

"Let's think of this logically," I start. "She hasn't checked in to her hotel yet, she'd look better. Don't ask how I know hotel," I point at Lestrade, who closes his mouth quickly. "She's traveling, and knowing her type means that her case matches..." My eyes rest on the body. "Pink."

"Yes!" Sherlock exclaims, clapping his hands. He runs to leave the room, but turns around in the doorway to look at me. "You coming?"

"Nah, it'll be quicker without me, see you at home." He nods and makes his escape, running down the stairs.

"I have never seen him that domestic. How did you do that?" Lestrade asks in wonder.

"Best not to question it," I respond. "I think I'll leave you to it." I start towards the stairs, but a firm hand on my shoulder holds me back. My instincts take over as I flip him on his stomach, holding his arm closer to the other one.

"What the hell are you doing!?" He exclaims. I let go of his arm and back away.

"I'm so sorry. Instincts took over, and-" I start to apologize, but I don't really have the right words.

"It's alright, just don't do it again," He tells me as he stands up. "You're good. If you ever want a job, come talk to me."

"Will do, sir." I mock salute him and walk down the steps. Before I could step out of the building, I literally run into Sergeant Donovan.

"He's gone. He does that you know, runs off. Didn't look like he was coming back," I can tell she's trying to get me to rethink my choices, but it doesn't work.

"That was the plan. Can I go home now?" I ask in return. She looks at me silently for a moment before nodding, stepping aside. Finally leaving the crime scene, I smile to myself._ Finally, something fun is going on. And a nice quiet stroll helps, too._ A sudden ringing breaks me from my thoughts. I look up and around in search of the sound, my eyes resting on a phone booth. Seeing no one around, I duck into it and answer the phone.

"Hello?" I ask, uncertain.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left, do you see it?" A somewhat familiar voice answers.

"Yeah, and?"

"Watch." It slowly moves away from its original position, pointing in a different direction.

"Why are you doing this?"

"There is another on the building opposite you, do you see it?" He doesn't answer my question, but I know I'll have the chance to ask him later.

"And finally, one on the building to your right." The camera does like the first two, swiveling to point in a new direction.

"Get into the car, Dr. Watson." A sleek black car drives up next to the phone booth as I hang up. I hesitate for a moment, but climb inside.

A woman sits on her phone in the backseat.

"What's your name?" I ask, trying to make small talk.

"Uhh, Anthea," she replies slowly.

"That a fake name?"

"Oh yes." She smiles a bit, but stays quiet the rest of the way. We soon stop, and Anthea motions for me to get out. I do as she says, getting out of the car and into an underground parking ramp. A man stands by himself, leaning on an umbrella.

"Hello Mycroft."

* * *

**Cliff hanger! This is the only place I could actually find a spot to stop, so it'll work for now. As I said before, I'll have the next one up soon.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	7. Chasing the Taxi

**Hello again! This chapter is a bit later than I thought it would be, because I went to Montana last week and didn't have it done after that, then I went to the lake this weekend, where I only just finished it. This will have to tide you over for a while, because I'm going on vacation with my mother for the next week. I'll try to work on the next chapter over that time, and I'll have it up sometime after that.**

* * *

"Hello Mycroft."

"Hello, Jane. How are you?"

"Fine," I say coldly.

"Why the attitude?"

"You offered to help, then left me to fend for myself," I shout angrily at him.

"Jane, you were perfectly capable of finding work-"

"It was the middle of winter, I had no money or food, and had nowhere to sleep at night. And I was injured, for Christ's sake! You betrayed me, Mycroft."

"Now, Jane, we've talked about this. We agreed that this is behind us."

"Us!? There is no us, Mycroft. YOU left me on the streets, YOU offered your help but didn't interfere. It's your fault." I look him in the eyes, but he can't keep my gaze.

"I brought you here to offer you money," he tells me, but I just scoff.

"Too little, too late."

"It'll be a large sum-"

"Why?" I interrupt.

"I need you to spy on my brother for me, I worry about him constantly."

"No. You own the government, use it." I stare silently at him until he looks to the floor. Without another word, I walk back to the car and climb in. Anthea still sits, on her phone, in the exact same spot I last saw her.

"Take me to 221 Baker Street please." I tell the driver, who nods in response.

* * *

I get out of the car quickly, happy to separate myself from Mycroft as much as possible. I trudge up the stairs, suddenly feeling very drained. I open the door to the flat to find Sherlock laying on the sofa with his hands steepled to his mouth.

"What are you doing?" I ask tiredly as he checks his watch.

"One hour, twenty three minutes, seventeen seconds late. I had expected you to be the first back, did you walk all the way from Laureston Gardens?" He asks jokingly, but sits up to look at me. "What's happened?"

"I've just been talking with someone, your arch enemy. People don't have arch enemies, well, I have a few, but that doesn't mean anything. Anyway, he offered me money to spy on you."

"Did you take it?" He interjects.

"No."

"We could have split the fee, think it through next time."

"I did, and that's why I said no." He looks at me again before smiling slightly. "So, the case?" This snaps him out of his trance, bolting over to the pink suitcase on a chair.

"I need to borrow your phone," he says as his sits down next to the case. "My number is on the website, it might be recognized." I hand my phone over silently, watching him type his message quickly. He hands it back a few moments later. "So, what's wrong with the case?" He asks, looking up at me. I glance over at it before I answer.

"Her phone's missing, and making a wild guess, I'm going to say you just texted it."

"Yes and yes." I plop in the chair, sighing and closing my eyes.

"Hungry?" Sherlock asks.

"Sherlock, today has been emotionally draining for me, please let me rest for a moment," I tell him without opening my eyes. This manages to keep him quiet, at least for a while.

"Now are you hungry?" He asks a few minutes later.

"What the hell," I say to myself, standing up. Sherlock stands by the door, waiting for me to get up. "Lead the way, then." He turns on his heel and walks briskly out the door. _Jesus, so much hell is going to be raised because of him_.

* * *

"So, why are we here again?" I ask Sherlock as we sit down at a table.

"I told the murderer to meet me there, across the street at 22 Northumberland Street. The staff _here_ owes me a favor," he says simply, staring out the window.

"Can't you just say you know a guy?"

"Hmm, too easy." I smile at this statement, looking down at the menu.

"Sherlock!" Someone calls, drawing my attention to him. "Anything on the menu, free. For you and your date."

"No, I'm not his date," I try to tell him, but he just ignores me.

"He got me off a murder charge."

"I proved he was across town house-breaking at the time," Sherlock corrects.

"He saved me from going to jail."

"You _did_ go to jail."

"Anyway, I'll go get a candle. It'll be more romantic."

"I'm not his date!" I shout after him, but he gets the candle anyway. "Aren't you going to eat?" I ask Sherlock as the waitress takes my order.

"Too boring, I eat when I have time," he responds, his eagle-like eyes staring out the window. A few short minutes later, I'm stuffing my face with food, barely even coming up for air.

"I take it you were hungry, then." Sherlock states, looking at me. "It's almost cannibalistic."

"I didn't eat breakfast today," I respond innocently, properly chewing my food and swallowing. "So, you have a girlfriend then?"

"Not really my area of expertise,"he responds, turning a light shade of pink. "You know, I consider myself married to my work. Though it was nice of you to offer-"

"Nuh uh, you are not turning this around."

"What?" He asks in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I was just asking, you don't need to get all defensive about it. It's just a question."

"Ah, um, well," he stutters in response before clearing his throat. "Very good."

"I know." I give him a toothy grin before spotting something out the window. "There. That cab's stopped in the middle of the road, why?" Instead of answering my question, he jumps from his seat and runs out the door. I abandon the table to trail after him, almost loosing him a couple times. He stops at an intersection up ahead, putting his hands to his temples.

"Left left left left left!" I shout at him as he launches in that direction. Soon, he runs in front of the cab, making it stop.

"Police! Open up!" He yells, yanking the backseat door open. _Californian_.

"He's not the one Sherlock," I tell him breathlessly, eyeing the cabbie. He looks at me, smiling a wicked smile.

"Welcome to London," Sherlock says happily, walking away.

"So sorry to interrupt, have a nice day." I close the door, walking towards Sherlock. "So just coincidence, yeah?"

"Basically."

"Where did you get a police badge?" I ask, grabbing for it. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"I pickpocket him when he's annoying."

"So all the time then?" He smiles slightly before looking back at the stopped cab.

"Got your breath back?" He asks, spotting the policeman talking to the Californian.

"Ready when you are."

* * *

"I have never done something that stupid in my life," I tell Sherlock, gasping for air.

"And you invaded Afghanistan," he adds, smiling.

"I didn't do it alone," I say, smiling back.

"And I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yes you could have."

"Probably, but that's not the point."

"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs. Hudson asks him, coming out of her flat.

"What?" He says in return, looking worried. She just points upstairs. Sherlock looks at me before we both run up the stairs, finding the whole of Scotland Yard digging through our things.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand angrily, marching over and ripping one of my books from Lestrade's hands.

"It's a drugs bust," he says simply, his eyes moving between Sherlock and I.

"I don't know, he looks clean to me," I spit back at him. "I'm clean too if anyone cares!"

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan asks from the kitchen, paying no attention to my outburst.

"Put those back," Sherlock tells her, annoyed.

"They were in the microwave."

"It's an experiment," we say at the same time, glaring at her. She complies, going back to her search.

"We found Rachel," Lestrade tells us.

"Who is she?" I ask, cutting straight to the point.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Why would she write her daughter's name?" Sherlock mumbles to himself.

"Never mind that, we found the case," Anderson butts in. "According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we find it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

"He's not a psychopath, he's a high functioning sociopath, do your research," I inform him angrily. Everyone ceases what they're doing and look at me. "What? I've been saying that for years, it's a common comeback for people like us." They seem to agree, going back to their work.

"You need to bring Rachel in for questioning." Sherlock tells Lestrade.

"She's dead."

"Excellent. How, when, and why?"

"Technically she was never alive, she was stillborn 14 years ago."

"No," Sherlock whispers in disbelief. "No, that's not right. Why would she do that?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson butts in again. "Yeah, sociopath. Seeing it now."

"She didn't just think about her daughter, she scratched her name into the floor. It would have hurt."

"The murderer makes them take the poison themselves, maybe he brought up the death of her daughter somehow," I think out loud.

"That was ages ago, why would she still be upset?" Once again, everyone in the room went dead silent. "Not good?" He whispers to me.

"Bit not good," I reply.

"Yes, but if you were dying, what would your last words be?"

"Please God let me live," I tell him, unemotionally.

"Use your imagination!" He tells me, not thinking about what he just said.

"I don't have to." A hint of regret flashes in his eyes, but it's gone within seconds.

"But if you were clever, Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."

"Jane, dear, isn't the doorbell working? There's a taxi for you," Mrs. Hudson notifies me from the stairway.

"I didn't order a taxi, Mrs. Hudson," I tell her, keeping an eye on Sherlock. _Any moment, he's gonna explode._

"What's this then?"

"A drugs bust."

"They're just for my hip, they're herbal soothers," she tells me as Sherlock throws his hands to his sides.

"Shut up, everybody shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe, I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way your putting me off."

"What? My face is?" Anderson asks skeptically.

"Everyone quiet and still, Anderson turn your back," Lestrade orders.

"Oh, for Gods sake."

"Your back, now, please!" He yells in return, making him turn around.

"Come on, think!"

"Oh!" I exclaim, looking up at Sherlock. "What if she never lost it?" He stays silent before launching over to his laptop.

"Ready," he tells me, holding his hands above the keys.

"Jenny dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk," I recite from the tag on the luggage.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Lestrade demands angrily.

"She never lost her phone, she planted it on the murderer. She's leading us straight to him," I inform him.

"And all together now, the password is?" Sherlock asks sarcastically.

"Rachel," Lestrade states, finally catching on.

"So we can read her emails, so what?" Anderson asks, irritated.

"Anderson, your mouth is talking, you might want to look into that," I tell him, smiling.

"We can do more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which will lead us to the murderer," Sherlock informs everyone as he waits for the GPS to load.

"Jane, this taxi," Mrs. Hudson says again, still in her spot by the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry, but I didn't want a taxi. Please tell them to leave," I tell her, getting more on edge.

"The phone battery won't last forever. We need to move quickly," Sherlock says, rushed. The laptop dings as it finalizes the location of the missing phone.

"Sherlock," I call for his attention, sitting down by the laptop and reading the location.

"Where is it?"

"It's here," I whisper to myself in disbelief, then louder so the others could hear me. "It's here. It's in 221 Baker Street."

* * *

**Another cliff hanger! Sorry about that, but once again it's the only place I could stop without unleashing hell, soo...**

**I'll be back soon with the next one.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	8. The Driver

**I'm back! ****I had a lot of fun on vacation, the best part was that my uncle thought 'Benedict Cumberbatch must have had a lot of work done, he looks a little fake.' I told him that yes, those are his normal cheekbones, and he was slightly surprised. Anyway, back to the story, I sadly didn't get enough time to work on this during the week. I got as much as I could, and figured a nice place to stop so I didn't have to do the rest of the episode in one chapter. We'd be here awhile. So, here's the next chapter.**

* * *

"It's here. It's in 221 Baker Street."

"No, that- that's not possible," Sherlock denies.

"Maybe it fell out," Lestrade tries, thinking logically, _for him_.

"And I didn't notice? _We_ didn't notice?"

"Alright," Lestrade says, finally giving up. "Everyone, we're also looking for a mobile phone, belonged to the victim, so keep your eyes peeled."

"Sherlock, we need to work together, talk to me," I say, turning towards the door leading to the stairs. A new figure stands in the doorway, unnoticed by everyone else. My phone dings with a text, _Come with me_ it says. I turn to Sherlock in panic, searching for a sign of help. I can tell by his face he's working it out, so I need to move quickly. I lean towards him, kissing his cheek lightly before turning towards the door again. Mrs. Hudson stands by herself, the space empty without the unfamiliar man. I walk past her and down the stairs, leaving the police officers and Sherlock to figure the case out themselves.

* * *

I slam the front door behind me, pulling on my jacket.

"Taxi for Jane Watson," the cabbie says with a slight smile.

"I didn't order a taxi," I tell him, trying to buy time.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one."

"Why are you doing this?"

"No one ever thinks about the cabbie, just the back of a head. Like you're invisible."

"Is this a confession?"

"Can be. Cause if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet while they take me down."

"How did you kill all those people?"

"I didn't kill them, I talked to them and they killed themselves. But if you call the coppers, you won't find out what I said."

"How did you find me?"

"I recognized you, when you were chasing my cab. Was warned about you, warned by someone who noticed."

"Who would notice me?"

"Don't be modest. Got yourself a fan."

"A fan who makes people kill other people?" I let him sit in a few moments of silence. "Exactly what I thought."

"I'd like to take you on a drive," he says, finally.

"Why? So you can kill me?"

"I'm gonna talk to you, and you're going to kill yourself." He smirks a bit before walking around his cab for the drivers seat.

"If I call the police, they would take you away, the murders would stop. I believe they call that a result."

"But you won't know how I did it. What kind of result do you care about?" He climbs into the cab, sitting quietly for my answer. I look up to the flat window, making brief eye contact with Sherlock before walking towards the cab and climbing in.

* * *

Soon he makes his stop, at a college a decent way away from the flat. He opens my door, standing silently.

"Where are we?" I ask, knowing exactly where we are with one look around.

"You know every street in London, you know where we are," comes his joking response.

"Roland Further Education College, but why should I follow you in?" He pulls out a gun, holding it inches from my face._ Fake._

"Because you know better." He waves the gun for me to get out, which I do silently. He pushes me in the back to make me go faster until we end up in one of the larger classrooms on the top floor.

"Do you like it? You're the one that's gonna die here."

"No, I don't actually. Too clean, I always imagined my death at home, or in a dark alleyway."

"Shall we talk?" He goes on as if he didn't hear me. He offers for me to sit down, pulling out his own chair to sit.

"You took me out of a flat with half a dozen police, and Sherlock Holmes, and Mrs. Hudson will remember you. They're not as stupid as you may think."

"You call that a risk?" He smiles to himself, reaching inside his left pocket. "This is a risk." He places the object on the table, pulling his hand back to reveal a pill in a small glass jar. I stare at it in confusion for a while before I look up at him again.

"You don't get it yet, do you? Well you're about to, all I have to do is this." He reaches into his other pocket, pulling out an identical glass jar with an identical pill inside. I can't help but widen my eyes as it finally dawns on me.

"What's this about?" I ask anyway.

"Look at you. Jane Watson, in the flesh, a proper genius. Bet you're thinking hard now aren't you? Between you and me, why can't people just think? Drives you mad, doesn't it. Why don't people just think?" I smile to myself at his question.

"My brother asked me the same thing when we were kids," I tell him, thinking fondly of the memory. I shake my head, coming back to my senses. "Alright, so I'm guessing there's a good bottle and a bad bottle, and you want me to choose one so you can take the other." His face falls rather quickly. "It's alright, don't take it personally, I saw it on the telly once."

"Are you ready to play?" He asks, though quite annoyed.

"Oi, let me have my turn," I interject. My eyes scan over him, looking for clues. _Dying_. "Ah, I see now."

"What exactly do you see, Jane Watson?" He spits out my name.

"You're a dead man walking," I say sympathetically. "Three years ago you got the news, and apparently someone wanted to help you." He sighs heavily before looking back at me.

"Aneurysm. Right in here," he taps his forehead. "They told me any breath could be my last."

"So you wanted to give your kids something before you died, money by chance?"

"The more I kill, the better off they'll be." He smiles to himself again, before wiping all emotion from his face. "Time to choose."

* * *

**Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, cliffhanger. Only place to stop, yada yada yada, you know how this goes. I'll have the next one up soon.**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	9. The End?

"Time to choose." My eyes dart between the two bottles.

"What if I don't choose? I could just walk out of here, you can go back to killing people, we can both get back to our lives." He pulls the gun from his lap, facing it towards me again.

"I don't have a life to get back to," he spits at me. "You take a pill, or I shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no one's gone for that option."

"If that's one of my options, I'll go for it," I joke, smiling. "If you would be so kind, I have chosen. The gun, please."

"Is that your final choice?"

"Yes, now shoot me."

"Don't want to phone a friend?"

"Just shoot me!" He pulls the trigger ever so slowly before the tip burst into a tiny flame, which makes me smile with relief. "I know a real gun when I see one."

"None of the others did," he says, putting the gun on the table.

"Obviously," I state, standing up. "This has been interesting, can't wait for the court case." I start towards the door, opening it inches before he calls me back.

"Before you go, what would you have picked? Just so I know if you would have beat me or not." I sigh heavily before closing the door, walking close to him again. I grab the pill closest to him, depositing it into my hand.

"What do you think. Willing to play one more round?" I ask absentmindedly.

"You seem to be the only victim that wants to die."

"Everyone gets bored sometimes," I admit, my ears perking up at the sound of a distant door slam.

"You so sure of your choice then?" He takes the pill out of the other jar, holding it in his fingers. "We'll take them together, and watch the outcome. You ready?" I hold my pill close to my mouth. "One."

"Two," I finish for him, inching it closer towards me.

"Three," we say in unison, centimeters from placing the pills on our tongues. A loud bang rings out, and the cabbie falls as I jump back in shock, dropping my pill to the floor. I turn around and look out the window to see who was to blame, but there was no one. I turn back to the cabbie, eyeing his bloody shoulder with a skillful eye. _It's a fatal wound, nicked an artery. He'll be dead in a matter of seconds._

_"_Was I right?" I demand, bending over to get closer. "Would I have survived!?" I scream, tears streaking down my face. "Tell me if it would have killed me, please!"

"I'll let you live with the benefit of the doubt," he smiles at his response, but is soon distracted by his wound. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, straightening my back and outstretching my leg to rest on the wound.

"Give me a name, who are you working for?" He shakes his head no, but I apply pressure with my foot. "A NAME!"

"Moriarty!" He screams in pain, making me step away in shock. _Moriarty? No, it can't be, I thought I heard the last of him years ago. _I sit and stare at the cabbie until the life drains from his eyes, taking all his secrets with him.

* * *

I sit unmoving in the back of an ambulance, people working all around me. I have become more-than-slightly attached to a little square of the road to stare at, lost in my thoughts. _Why does it have to be Moriarty?_ Lestrade breaks me from my thoughts, walking over and placing yet another shock blanket on my shoulders.

"Lestrade, why do you care about the blanket on my shoulders? I'm not in shock!" I ask, moving my eyes to look at him.

"You've been staring at the same spot of road for fifteen minutes. I'd say you're in shock," comes his reply. "You were almost killed back there, it's our job to protect you."

"I didn't need protecting, I knew what I was doing."

"Regulation says I have to ask you questions now, so did you see who shot him?"

"Lestrade," I start, irritated. "I was in the middle of something, if you hadn't guessed it already. I was focusing on how to survive, not who shot who."

"Understandable, but you need to come down to the station tomorrow, maybe give us something."

"I'll try." He smiles at me one more time before walking away, leaving me with my thoughts once again.

"You're alright," Donovan states, drawing my attention to her. She smiles slightly before nodding her head to her right. Sherlock stands quietly behind the police tape, looking at me with relief. "You can go home now." I smile back at her before shrugging the blanket off my shoulders and running towards Sherlock. He holds the tape up for me to duck under, and soon sweeps me up in a tight embrace.

"Again with the hugging!" I laugh, hugging him back. He pulls back after a few moments, staring at me. "Nice shot, did you get the powder burns off your fingers yet?" His brows furrow in confusion.

"What do you mean, I didn't shoot him," he protests, making me even more confused.

"Well then, whoever did has got their eye out for me, and I owe them." Sherlock smiles slightly, turning to walk away. "Oh, and Sherlock?" He turns back in time for me to place my lips on his softly, standing on my tiptoes just to reach him. The moment I pull away and see the blush on his cheeks, I slap him hard across the face. His heads snaps to the side, his cheek already showing the red outline of my hand.

"What the hell was that for!?" He exclaims, rubbing the mark.

"Violence is how I show affection, I hope we're clear on that." He stares for a moment before smiling at me.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

"I know a decent Chinese place. End of Baker Street, open till two. You can tell how good a place like that is by the bottom two-thirds of the door handle."

"Really? I thought it had to do with the doormat," I joke, making him laugh, but he suddenly stops and looks angry again. I look to where he was looking, seeing Mycroft climb out of his car. "Oh my God, Mycroft. Can't you leave me alone for one day? You left me alone for three years, but not for one day?"

"Jane, dear, how lovely to see my brother being domestic. You've done a great job, I'll get you that money by tomorrow," Mycroft states, smiling.

"I see you've met, shall I assume your relationship is platonic?" Sherlock adds, turning to me.

"Now is not the time to get jealous, Sherlock. And of course it's platonic, it's even less than."

"Yes, Sherlock, maybe you should stay out of this."

"Mycroft Holmes, that is no way to talk to him! Do it again, and you'll regret it," I threaten, glaring at him. He holds his hands up in a mock surrender, obviously not taking me seriously.

"Well, this has been a lovely family reunion," Sherlock says sarcastically. "Mycroft, I'd show you the door, but I'm afraid you would start offering it money to spy on me."

"That is no reason to hold a grudge!" Mycroft tries to counter, but my fist making hard contact with his jaw distracts him.

"You're right. My reason is much more realistic," I tell him, tipping an imaginary hat and turning away. "Come on Sherlock, he's not worth our time right now."

We make it halfway down the block before our anger simmers down, and we start talking again.

"So, was that affection for my brother?" Sherlock asks jokingly.

"Nope, just a whole lotta hate. Glad I got to hit him though," I admit, smiling.

"I forgot to ask, did you get a name off the cabbie?" I stop smiling at his question, but I shake my head to get rid of stray thoughts.

"Moriarty," I say simply.

"What's that face? I know that face, what is it?"

"I knew someone named Moriarty. Many years ago, he's gone now, but..." I take a deep breath. "But not quite gone, if you know what I mean."

"I understand," he says sympathetically. "So, dinner?"

"Lead the way," I tell him, grinning. He smiles in return, starting towards the traffic to find a cab. My phone starts ringing, so I let him get the cab while I pull out my phone. The caller ID makes me sick to my stomach, and a chill run down my spine.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock yell over, one foot in a cab.

"I'll catch up with you in a bit, I need to take this call," I tell him as he climbs in the rest of the way. They drive off in a matter of seconds, leaving me alone on the street corner. I muster all my inner strength to answer, holding the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Jane, dear, how lovely to hear from you!" Comes the voice on the other end.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing. That was quite the scare, wasn't it? That cabbie taking you and almost killing you?"

"Yeah, well, I'm fine now."

"Only because of me." It finally dawns on me.

"You shot him, it was you!"

"Well, I had to, didn't I? He was supposed to go after Sherlock, I told him to keep his filthy little hands off of you. He didn't listen, so he had to go. I needed to protect you."

"Why is everyone so obsessed with protecting me! I don't need protection at every hour of the day, I'm not a damsel in distress, Jim."

"I never said you were."

"You implied it."

"I just care about you, Jane. You're walking a dangerous path, getting all buddy-buddy with Sherlock. Just remember that this isn't the last you'll hear of me."

"I thought I heard the last of you years ago, I've learned not to trust you when it comes to stuff like that."

"You get that from dad."

"Shut up."

"Seen you soon, Jane." He hangs up with a click, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I get pulled from my thoughts by a loud horn, and I look up to see Sherlock in the back of a cab, opening the door. I run to get in, though startled by his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here? I though we were going to meet at the Chinese place."

"I couldn't wait for you to get there, so I came back. What was that call about?"

"Oh, you know. Family issues." He lets me leave it at that, plunging the cab into silence.

* * *

**Hello again, I hope you liked my little plot twist! It was an idea I had ages ago, and I'm glad I got to share it with you like this. I kinda forgot Blind Banker existed, so I'll need some time to work on that. I'll be back, I promise, just give me some time to work on it.**

**See you later!**

**xxIshipit24xx**


	10. Called to the Bank

**Did you miss me? ****Sorry, couldn't resist! Yes, I'm back, and I've been working on this story a lot. My school just finished with the musical, _The Music Man, _last week and I'm still recovering from lack of sleep. I'm sad to say writer's block has overcome me, but I have managed to pass most of it. I'm currently stuck mid-episode, so wish me luck.**

**Also, there are a bunch of plot twists in this episode and beyond, so be prepared for anything.**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

_Just another normal day, _I think to myself as I go about with the shopping. _Kinda boring, really. Wish something fun would happen. _I pull the cart up to the chip and PIN machine to pay. _Now, serial killers, those are fun. Or maybe a homicidal maniac. Ooh! Mass murderers. _I get lost in thought as I try to pay, try being the operative word. Every little thing seems to be going wrong. First the 'unexpected item in bagging area', then my card didn't work, so instead of actually buying the groceries, I just head home without them.

* * *

I storm up the stairs, ready to hit something.

"You took your time," Sherlock kids, looking up briefly from his book.

"I didn't get the shopping," I tell him angrily.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I had a row, in the shop, with a chip and PIN machine," I admit reluctantly.

"Hm. A row with a machine?"

"It sat there and I yelled abuse. Can I have some cash?"

"Take my card," he smiles, going back to his book.

"You're the best. Now I should be home soon, with food this time. Please actually do something," I ask, but he just waves his hand to shoo me away. "See you in a bit!" I shout as I run down the stairs, for the _second_ time today.

* * *

"Don't mind, I'll get it," I call to Sherlock, my hands full of groceries. He says nothing, just sits at the computer. _My _computer, might I add. "You know, usually people help when someone needs it."

"The rules don't apply to me?" He tries, smiling slightly to himself.

"Whatever." I place everything from my arms onto the table, picking up the riding crop. "When are you going to get rid of this?"

"Why would I get rid of it?" He finally seems intrigued, turning to look at me.

"If you had my childhood, you'd want it _gone._"

"What happened to you as a child? You haven't told me, and I'm awfully curious."

"I'll tell you later, just please. Get rid of it." He just nods silently, turning back to my computer. "And why are you using my computer!?"

"Mine was in the bedroom."

"Doesn't mean use mine, it's password protected!"

"In a matter of speaking. It only took me a few minutes to guess yours."

"Yeah, cause Reichenbach was so easy a password to guess," I retort, snatching it away from him. "Why are you using it anyway?"

"I need to go to the bank," he says swiftly, standing and striding towards the door.

"Don't leave me in the dust!" I call after him, running to grab my coat from where I dropped it in the kitchen.

"Well, hurry up then!" He calls back. I chuckle to myself as I run down the stairs, _again_. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

* * *

The cab ride to the bank is in silence, the only sound being those leaking in from the crowds outside. Just as we pull up to the building, a question pops into my head that I'm surprised hasn't already.

"Why are we here again?" I ask Sherlock as we enter the bank.

"I need to see someone," he answers vaguely, heading towards the main desk.

"Thanks." He talks with the lady for a minute before she points us down a corridor, probably to someone's office. "When are you going to open up about your plans?" I ask when he finishes and comes back to me.

"Eventually. You'll figure it out as fast as I do," he smiles slightly before kissing my cheek. "Let's go, don't want to keep him waiting."

"Who's he?" I ask, following him down the corridor.

"Someone I hoped I'd never see again," he states, turning emotionless again.

"Ooh, that bad huh?"

"You've no idea."

We eventually make our way to the office, standing quietly for a moment before a man comes in.

"Sherlock Holmes," he says cheerfully.

"Sebastian."

"Hey buddy, what's it been, eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" He asks jokingly, but it hangs in the air awkwardly.

"This is my friend, Jane Watson," Sherlock spits, obviously not liking this encounter.

"Sherlock, don't be so modest," I tell him sweetly, turning to Sebastian. "I'm his girlfriend." Sebastian moves to shake my hand, but catches himself mid gesture. I can see from the corner of my eye that Sherlock's face had gone completely red, but I keep looking at Sebastian. He looks dumbfounded, at a complete loss for words.

"Well, um, alright then," Sebastian sputters out, pulling his hand down. He motions for us to sit down, himself doing the same.

"What the hell?" Sherlock whispers quiet enough for me to hear.

"An experiment, go along with it," I whisper back, sitting down in one of the armchairs available.

"So, you've been abroad recently," he states towards Sebastian, his face emotionless again.

"Yeah, so?" He asks, egging him on purposefully.

"Been round the world, twice in one month?" Sebastian only chuckles.

"You're doing that thing, aren't you? We were at Uni together, it was a trick he used to do," he states, turning to explain to me.

"It's not a trick," Sherlock tries.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life's story."

"Yes, I'm aware. I've seen him do it," I say lovingly, being very careful to keep up the facade.

"Put the wind up everybody, we all hated him. Come down to breakfast in the formal hall, and this freak would tell if you'd been shagging the previous night."

"Please, if you would be so kind," I say icily towards Sebastian. "Don't call him a freak, that's a bit rude don't you think?"

"Well well well, I can see why you like her. Bit feisty this one." I smile at him, though feeling disgusted. _Can't be decent to anyone in this town without someone flirting._ "So, enlighten me. Two trips around the world, twice in one month? What are you going to say, it's a special mustard on my tie you can only find in Manhattan? Or maybe the mud on my shoes." _He's having way too much fun mocking him, mocking _us,_ time to put an end to this._

"We were talking with your secretary outside, oh she was lovely. She deserves a raise," I manage to say before Sherlock said anything. Sebastian looks at us for a second before chuckling.

"Anyway, glad you're here. There's been a break in," he states, reverting back to his serious look.

"Sir William's office, the bank's former chairman. The room was left as a sort of memorial, but late last night someone broke in and left a message. Didn't steal a thing, just a message." By the time he finishes explaining, we're standing outside the office being questioned. Sebastian swipes his card to open the door, holding it open for us to enter. I notice the line of paint over the man's eyes, and another symbol next to it in the same yellow paint. I search my brain for an explanation, when a old memory surfaces and brings things into a new light. _Dead man._

"Oh no," I whisper to myself, my heart dropping into my stomach. "Not again."

* * *

**Dun dun dun...**

**(Did I mention cliff hangers? I should have mentioned cliff hangers)**

**Don't worry, it gets explained in the next chapter, which I'll have up soon!**


	11. The Call

**Here we are, it's short, but enjoy!**

* * *

"Oh no, not again."

"What?" Sherlock asks, looking over to me.

"Nothing," I cover quickly, peeling my eyes away from the picture. "I just need some fresh air." I head out of the room, my mind racing.

"Jane, wait!" He calls, making me turn around to look back at him. "Don't forget to get a look around."

"Yeah, sure," I mumble, walking out again. I hurry down to the lobby, and sit on one of the many chairs. I pull out my phone, dialing the number before I can think.

"Hi!" He sings his greeting.

"Yeah, hi Jim, could you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Tell me what you're planning, right now."

"And just why would I do that?"

"Because Sherlock was called to the bank, about some graffiti, which I _know _you've been associated with before."

"Aww, baby sister's growing up!"

"Tell me."

"Umm, no, I don't think I will."

"Why not?"

"I have plans, Jane, and I don't like when they get disrupted."

"What do you think I'm going to do, run to Sherlock and tell him everything? I'm not a toddler anymore, I learned my lesson."

"I'm not sharing my plans, Jane, and that's final." He hangs up without another word. I shove my phone in my pocket angrily, letting out a huff.

"Love trouble?" Someone asks above me, chuckling softly. I look up and see her, staring slightly. _God, she's hot. _

"N-no," I stutter, looking away quickly to cover myself. "My brother is being a prat and won't tell me anything."

"Oh, sorry," she chuckles again, sitting down next to me.

"It's okay," I spit out quickly so she doesn't get discouraged. "Almost everyone would automatically assume that was the case and even though it's not I'm still having boy troubles and I'm rambling now aren't I?" I take a breath and she laughs.

"You're cute," she says, smiling. I feel my cheeks heat up at this.

"Th-thanks, you are too," I stumble. I blush even more when I register what I just said.

"Thanks! Do you have a pen, or paper?" I check my pockets, and find exactly what she asked.

"Here," I hand them over, and watch as she scribbles on the paper. She gives them back soon, and I look down to see what she wrote. _OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod she gave me her number. Oh my God._

_"_Call me sometime, we can go out," she says, standing up. I look up at her and smile.

"Okay," I say as she walks away. _I feel so lucky, my God._

_"_Jane," I hear Sherlock call. _And it's gone._

_"_What, Sherlock?" I ask, almost annoyed.

"Ready to go?"

"Why not?" I stand up and make my way towards him, slipping the girl's number into my pocket.

"What's that?" He asks, staring at me for my answer.

"Nothing," I lie. _Great, how am I gonna explain this to him?_

* * *

**I just love hella bisexual Watson. It's debated in the show, but I wanted to put in here.**

**This chapter is kind of a filler, but it's still important.**

**Please tell me how I'm doing! I don't want to keep updating blind.**


	12. Van Coon

**Whoa, long time no see. I've been trying to write ahead, but I'm stuck around two chapters from now. So PLEASE don't hate me if there's long waits between chapters like this one. I'm trying my best, honest.**

* * *

"So, what's the deal on the graffiti?" I try to make conversation in the cab, which almost gets shot down immediately.

"Trading floors at 11:34 at night, make a guess," he says, irritated.

"So, they're sending someone a message?" I ask after a moment of thought.

"Of course they are!" He exclaims, slamming his hand down on the empty seat next to him. I jump a bit at the contact, but look at him with questioning eyes.

"What is up with you? Ever since you got that email this morning, you've been off. What's wrong?" I ask.

"Sebastian," he states through gritted teeth. "He's been ignoring me since Uni, and the moment something goes wrong in that perfect world of his, I'm asked to help."

"It's just how he does things, Sherlock. That's all," I tell him, placing my hand on his arm. "It may be inefficient, but it works for him."

"I hope you're right, Jane. And I'm sorry I got angry."

"Anger is a normal emotion, it's alright." I look out the window as the cab slows. "Where are we?"

"Pillars and screens prevented the message from getting to certain people," he answers, pulling paper out of his pocket. "Not many Van Coons in the phone book." He opens the cab door as it stops, pulling money out to pay the man. I walk up to the door and examine the resident's names on the buzzer. Sherlock comes from behind me and goes to press the one with Van Coon's name on it, but I push him away before he can.

"That's not going to work," I say absentmindedly.

"How do you know?"

"Call it a hunch, here." I point at the one above it. "Just moved in." He presses that one instead, a woman answers.

'Hi, um, I live in the flat below you, I don't think we've met," he says in an overly sweet tone.

"No, well, I've just moved in," she replies.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat."

"Do you want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?" She asks in confusion, but buzzes us in anyway. We climb the stairs, parting ways when Sherlock goes to use the poor woman's balcony. After a few minutes, I start to get impatient.

"Anytime you feel like letting me in, Sherlock," I say, knocking on the door. I hear a small click and push the door open, meeting a somber Sherlock. He motions towards what I believe is the bedroom, so I head over to look. A man, who I assume is Van Coon, lays sprawled on the bed, a single gunshot wound in his right temple.

"Just what we need, more death," I say to myself before turning to Sherlock. "Call Lestrade, get a team up here. The sooner we figure this out, the better."

* * *

"Just so we're clear, he didn't commit suicide?" I ask, making sure I understood.

"Yup," he says without looking up, examining the body. He pulls a black paper lotus from his mouth, making my eyes widen slightly. A man enters the doorway, looking at us as if we're trespassing.

"Ahh, Sergeant, we haven't met," Sherlock says politely, pulling a glove off to shake his hand.

"I've heard of you, and I would prefer it if you didn't tamper any of the evidence," a man says from the doorway. We both look at him, surprised he's shooting us down like this.

"I phoned Lestrade, is he on his way?" I ask.

"He's busy, I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant, it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock," he replies, walking out again. I look over to Sherlock before walking after him, glancing around the flat for clues. "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"No, we're not," I tell him, looking him in the eyes.

"What are you saying?" He asks in return, glaring at me.

"He was murdered, simple as that," Sherlock answers.

"Look around you, the answer is there," I say to him. "He was shot in the right side of his head, but he's left handed."

"What?"

"Coffee table, on the left side," I start, not even looking away as I point to it. "Coffee mug handle to the left. Power sockets, habitually using the ones on the left. Pen and paper, left side of the phone. Answered with his right, took down notes with his left. Any questions?" I say in an overly sweet tone. He stands still, his mouth agape. "We're done here, Holmes." I turn and head for the door, smiling at my little victory. Sherlock falls in behind me, his strides matching mine as we walk down the stairs.

"Isn't it amazing how some people doubt us and are still shocked when we prove them wrong?" I ask him as we get into a cab. "Now where to?"

"Well, Sebastian should know he's down one man, shouldn't he?"

"Absolutely right."

* * *

"The graffiti was a threat," Sherlock states as we walk up to Sebastian's table.

"I'm kind of in a meeting," he replies with his mouth full. "Can't you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"One of your traders was killed, Sebastian. It can't wait," I tell him hotly, staring at him as his face falls. He takes a moment before standing up, leading us to a quieter room to talk.

"Harrow, Oxford, very bright guy. Worked in Asia for awhile so-"

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts," Sherlock finishes quickly.

"Lost five million in one morning. Made it all back a week later."

"That's great, but we're trying to solve a murder here, if you could give us useful information," I cut in, loosing my patience.

"What's made you so jumpy, you were sweet a few hours ago," Sebastian almost complains.

"A murder, you idiot! I'm trying to solve this case before anyone else dies. You, complaining about my attitude, is far from what I'm concerned about right now."

"Wow, Sherlock, she definitely is a feisty one," Sebastian states to him under his breath.

"Say that one more time, I **dare **you!" I yell angrily. I glare at him as he takes a slight step back, his phone going off at the same time. He reaches for it, his face stoic as he looks at the message.

"It's my chairman, police have been coming on to him. Told him it was a suicide," he states, looking over to Sherlock.

"They've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered," Sherlock replies.

"Looks like they don't think that."

"So?"

"Neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job, don't get sidetracked." Sebastian moves to walk away, but my hand flies up to grab his collar before I can think.

"Listen here, you bastard," I start, holding his collar up. "We're doing our jobs. We've **been** to the crime scene, we **saw** the bullet wound. We told the police what we knew, and they threw it out like last week's chips. Are you really going to listen to someone who won't acknowledge the difference between a left or right handed man? It's not Sherlock's fault we've been 'sidetracked', it's the goddamn whole of Scotland Yard and its police force. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Sebastian replies, though strained.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page," I state, putting him down. _Oops, strength got the best of me again. _The moment his feet hit the floor, he straightens his tie and almost runs away. I smile at Sherlock, who grins in return. "So, dinner?"


	13. Casual Deductions

We spend the next few hours of the night in the flat, throwing back and forth a few deductions.

"Okay, now do me," I state, stoically standing in front of the fireplace. He walks around me slowly, barely glancing at me.

"Abusive relationship," he says, stopping in front of me.

"What?" I ask, chills travelling around my body.

"This morning, you implied you were abused as a child, possibly with a riding crop. If you would have that childhood, you'd want any evidence pertaining to the subject to disappear," he states, making a hand movement as he almost copies what I said earlier. I harden my gaze as he finishes. "Well, how'd I do?"

"You did a lot of guessing."

"I never guess."

"I've never been abused in my life," I lie easily. "I simply had a bad experience, and a riding crop happened to be involved."

"But-"

"My turn." He slowly takes my place, lifting his head. I circle around him a few times, catching things I hadn't seen before. _Bags under the eyes, also bloodshot. Slightly tippy, so he hasn't rested in a while. _I watch as he rolls up his sleeves, well past his usual elbow length. _Small scar at the crease, wait..._

"Are you using drugs?" I ask worriedly, looking up at him. He notices his sleeve and pulls it down, looking up again.

"Not anymore," he states, in a tone that tells me to drop it. "Anything else?"

"Yes. You haven't slept in three days, and the last thing you ate that was _close _to a proper meal was the biscuits we had with tea two days ago."

"Excellent, my turn?"

"Let's be done for tonight, we need to get some sleep. _You _need to get some sleep."

"But the case!" He exclaims, plopping into his chair.

"Forget the case, your health is more important! You haven't slept in days, you haven't eaten properly in longer! So go into your room and go. To. Bed!" I tell him, as he looks up at me for a moment.

"Since when have you been so persistent?"

"Since I moved in," I say with a smirk. He stands up again, silently staring at me.

"Goodnight Jane," he states, heading to his room.

"Goodnight Sherlock!" I call as he closes his door. My phone vibrates in my pocket immediately after, so I pull it out to answer, not bothering to check the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Hii Jane!" I hear my brother from the other side.

"Yes, Jim?" I ask in a hushed tone.

"Just calling to congratulate you on your abrasiveness towards our little Sherly. He did _not_ want to go to bed, did he?"

"Are you watching us?"

"He took my case, can't I be curious about him?"

"Not to the point of watching our every move!"

"If it'll make you feel better, I'm only watching Sherlock."

"Stop. Right now."

"Hmmm, don't think I will."

"Yes you will."

"And why is that?"

"Because I know there's a sliver of a heart left in that messed up head of yours." He hesitates for a few moments.

"That doesn't even make sense, but fine."

"Thank you, James-"

"Good talk, but I have a meeting to get to." He hangs up immediately, leaving the dial tone to hang in my silence. I stride over to the couch, sitting down and dialing another number. I take a deep breath as it rings.

"Hello?" The voice from the other side answers.

"Hey Harry, how're you?"

"I'm good! America's great, Clara says hi."

"Tell her I say hi back." We sit in silence for a few moments.

"So, why did you call?"

"I just wanted to catch up a little, is all."

"Yeah, right. He called again didn't he? What did he say this time?"

"Turns out, he's stalking me and my flatmate."

"Oh my God, there's no way he can get away with that. Tell the police!"

"They aren't going to listen, Harry, it's the police remember?"

"What was his name, Greg? He's the problem, and he's only a sergeant."

"You left a while ago, Harry, he's been promoted to Detective Inspector."

"Oh, God no."

"He's a lot better this time round, I have to say."

"Well, you have to get help somewhere, J. What did you say your flatmate was called?"

"Didn't, and Sherlock."

"Ask her to help then."

"Sherlock's not a girl's name, Harry!"

"You're flatmates with a man!?"

"Says the non-binary one!"

"I was joking, J."

"If you couldn't tell, I was too."

"So tell me about this Sherlock then."

"Really shouldn't, it's nearing midnight."

"Gonna turn into a pumpkin if you're not careful?"

"How did you know?" I ask sarcastically. "Love you H."

"You too J. Get some sleep."

"Planning to. Night."

"Night." I hang up, placing my phone on the table and laying down. _Too tired to move, _I think as my eyelids droop. _Just a small nap and I'll head upstairs... Nevermind, _I think finally as I fall asleep.

* * *

**Here's a filler, hope I didn't stray too far for it to be too confusing. (Also, I'm pretty sure that's not how the police works in the UK, I live in America so I wouldn't know.)**

**I have a couple plans pertaining Harry and Jim, so stay tuned!**


	14. The Next Morning

**Sorry this is so irregularly posted, I only write when I have time and I haven't had much lately. Either way, enjoy!**

* * *

I wake with a start, the blanket flying as I flash back to the war._ I could have saved you all, I'm sorry. _I hear footsteps close by, and shield myself from the person closing in on me. I cry out as they grab me.

"Jane!" I hear a man call, but it's distant. The images I have been seeing slowly fade to nothing, and Sherlock's face comes into view.

"Sherlock," I say happily, before reaching and punching his arm. "Don't you know not to grab someone who's having a PTSD flashback?"

"Sorry!" He exclaims, rubbing the spot I just hit.

"Just remember next time!" I exclaim back, recovering myself with the blanket.

"Was it bad?" He asks, heading over to the kitchen to make some tea.

"Always is," I reply truthfully, quietly.

"Well, when you're ready, there's been another murder."

"Always is," I mumble again, watching him flit in and out of the kitchen.

"Name's Brian Lukis, journalist. Shot dead in his flat last night," he continues. "Doors locked, windows bolted, just like Van Coon."

"Sherlock," I say to grab his attention, but he just trails on.

"In fact, the murders are so similar, it must be executed by the same man."

"Sherlock, I respect you and your techniques, but shut up." He opens his mouth only to close it again, pouting. "You ramble when you haven't had enough to eat. I hope you're making breakfast in there as well."

"Nope."

"Of course not."

"I'm on a case, digesting just slows me down," he argues.

"I'm on the case too, Sherlock. Your argument is invalid." he stands silent for a moment before opening his mouth again

"Well, women-"

"Don't you dare make this a sex thing!" I exclaim, making his mouth clamp tightly shut. "If you judge things based on if they have a vagina or not, I'm glad to say you won't get very far in the outside world." He stares at me angrily before getting the screaming kettle from the kitchen.

"I'm still not eating," he says. I laugh at this, standing up to meet him.

"You're such a kid sometimes." He smirks slightly, handing me my mug.

"Takes one to know one," he replies.

"That doesn't even make sense, and you know it!"

"I'm still right."

"Sure, whatever. Let's just finish this case. I want to go get dinner, that we'll both be eating."

"You'll have to make me," he says as I smile.

"I've always wanted to try." His eyes widen the same time my smile does. "Just kidding." Instead of a reply, he turns to grab and apple off the table. He takes a bite as he turns back.

"There, happy?" He asks through his food.

"Yes. Extremely."

"Let's get going, we don't want to keep Dimmock waiting."

"Yeah you do."

"Of course I do, I just wanted you to get going." He opens the door, waiting for me to exit the flat.

"Muppet," I say, walking past.

"Ninny," he replies quickly after, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**I don't experience PTSD, so I have no idea how the attacks work.**

**Muppet- Dimwit**

**Ninny- Brilliant but inferior**

**(That's at least what I found on the website I went on)**


	15. Lukis' Apartment

We get to the flat with speed. Once arriving, we quickly start analyzing the area. I spot a small black flower on the floor as Sherlock looks out the window.

"Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe," Sherlock states, turning back to look at me.

"Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut. Think themselves impregnable," I add.

"They never think for a second there's another way in."

"I don't understand," Dimmock says as Sherlock and I head for the door.

"Of course you wouldn't," I whisper to myself.

"I heard that," he says offensively.

"I know," I answer with a sickly sweet smile.

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb," Sherlock answers, heading over to a window.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock asks Sherlock tries to open the window.

"Clings to the walls like an insect," he says as the latch pops. "That's how he got in."

"I don't follow."

"He climbed up the side of the walls, along the roof, and dropped in through this skylight," I explain, putting my hands in my pockets.

"You can't be serious, like Spider Man?"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony and killed Van Coon," Sherlock adds, looking at Dimmock like he's an imbecile.

"And that's how he got into the bank. He'd run along the ledge and onto the terrace," I finish. Sherlock steps down from the window and glances around for a minute.

"I have to find out what connects these two men."

"Maybe it's something they own, like a book or something," I offer, making him smile a little.

"Maybe." He goes down the steps to reach for a book, finding the library's name on the inside cover. "Good place to start."

"Well, Dimmock. We'll call when we need you. Have a nice day," I say sarcastically, smiling as Sherlock and I head outside again.

* * *

"Date stamped on the book is the same as when he died," Sherlock observes out loud once we reach a promising shelf in the library. "Look around, would you?'

"Start snooping, got it," I say in a funny voice, turning to a different shelf. I pull out a few books before I notice a flash of yellow in the back of the shelf. _Dead man. _"Sherlock," I say to grab his attention, pointing at it. He looks at it for a few moments before snapping a picture and placing the books in their right places. _Jim, why couldn't you just enjoy being a normal child?"_Now what?"

"I don't know," comes Sherlock's honest answer. He thinks for a moment before heading towards the door.

* * *

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in, hours later he dies," Sherlock deduces, looking at the photos taped to the mirror.

"The killer finds Lukis in the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where they know it'll be seen. Lukis goes home, later that night he dies too," I add, looking at the pictures, then over to Sherlock in thought. "Why did they die?" I whisper.

"Only the cipher can tell us," he answers. "Come on," he says, grabbing his coat off his armchair. "I've got someone I need to meet."

"Sherlock, we just got home."

"Yes, and now we're leaving again."

"I don't get paid enough for this," I sigh to myself, following him quickly out the door.

* * *

"The world's run on codes and ciphers, Jane," Sherlock tells me once we're outside a museum. "From a million pound security system at the bank to the pin machine you took exception to. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, but-" I start.

"But it's all computer generated," he continues. "Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods."

"This is different. This is an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Exactly."

"So where are we headed?"

"I need some advice."

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly."

"You? Sherlock Holmes, needs advice?"

"On painting. I need to talk to an expert."

"So that's why we're heading towards the back of the museum and not into it, your 'expert' is a graffiti artist."

"I didn't say what type of painting, Jane."

"Yeah, but-" I start as we round the corner, spotting someone spray painting the side of the building.

"Part of my new exhibition," the artist says as we get closer to him. "I call it- Urban Bloodlust Frenzy."

"Interesting. Very catchy," I comment.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes walking around that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?" He turns to Sherlock momentarily before returning to his work. Sherlock holds his phone out to him as he turns around again. He tosses his spray can carelessly in my direction, and I catch it with ease.

"Know the author?"

"Recognize the paint. Looks like Michigan hardcore propellant, I'd say zinc."

"Do you recognize the symbols?" I ask.

"Not even sure that it's a proper language."

"Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding the killer," Sherlock tells him in a hushed tone.

"This is all you've got to go on? It's not much, innit?"

"Will you help or not?" I ask quickly, making him shut up momentarily in thought.

"I'll ask around," he finally says.

"Someone must know something about it," Sherlock states, taking his phone back from Raz.

"OI!" A voice shouts from the end of the alley. I turn my head quickly and start running, not ready to face the cops like this again. Without turning around, I can hear Sherlock's heavy steps and Raz's lighter ones behind me as we make our getaway.


	16. Chinatown

**SO sorry this is irregularly posted. I've been very distracted lately, working on other things and stories and stuff. I'm about halfway through this episode, which should be easy to finish. (It's Great Game, that'll take forever, just telling you now.)**

* * *

I make it back to the flat shortly after the incident. I had gotten there first, using a shortcut and a cab ride to get away. Sherlock arrived about ten minutes after me, having taken a normal route and a longer cab ride in traffic. I plop into my chair as the door opens, pulling out my phone. _Two new messages. One from Harry, wanting to talk about some stuff for their anniversary with Clara. One from... Jim._

_You know this game, Jane. Play it. JM._

I feel a chill travel down my spine as Sherlock leans over to read what I was. I quickly turn it off and look up at him, waiting for him to give me something to do.

"I've never seen someone run that fast in my life," he comments, smiling. "Almost like you've been arrested before."

"I have been," I say casually. "Three years ago, after I came back from Afghanistan. I was apparently loitering in a 24-Hour diner, when all I wanted was some free coffee. They wouldn't give it to me because I looked homeless. Well, I _was _homeless, but that's not the point."

"Interesting story. I need to find out how these two men connect to each other."

"Or just don't care about me, that's alright I guess."

"I need you to go to the station, talk to Dimmock and see what you can get to track Lukis' movements. A diary, to-do list, anything."

"No!" I exclaim, looking at him as his head turns to me and his brows furrow. "I was almost arrested _again _today, I can't just waltz into the station like you can."

"I don't waltz," he replies, turning away again. "You have to, I need you to."

"You just want me to do work for you."

"Okay, so I do. But I can't be in two places at once. I need you to track Lukis while I track Van Coon. Please." I stand still for a moment before nodding slowly.

"I'll try my best. What is it you need?"

"Something to track Lukis' movements. Diary, anything. I'm going to talk to Van Coon's PA and see what I can find." He stands, grabbing my hand and helping me up. He pulls me in, kissing my forehead. "Good luck."

"Thanks," I say, watching him leave the flat. I breathe deeply for a moment before following him, getting in a cab heading for Scotland Yard.

* * *

I trail after DI Dimmock as he walks towards Lukis' possessions, which are being stored in various boxes in Scotland Yard.

"Listen, your friend-" He starts, digging through the boxes.

"Whatever you say, I'm behind you 100%." He stops and looks at me. "More like 95%. Okay, 75%."

"He's an arrogant sod," he states, returning to the box.

"Bit mild. People say a lot worse than that." He looks at me again, holding out a book.

"This is what you wanted? The journalist's diary?" I take it and flip through, spotting a boarding pass between its pages.

"Thanks." I turn to leave, thankful to finally leave.

* * *

I read the diary as I walk toward the West End, trying to find a certain shop mentioned in the diary. Suddenly, I feel someone collide with me, and look up to see Sherlock mid-thought.

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died, whatever was hidden inside that case." I look across the street to see the shop I was looking for, and try to get Sherlock's attention. "I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information. Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China then came here."

"Sherlock," I try, but he keeps going.

"Somewhere in this street, somewhere near. I don't know where, but-"

"That shop, over there," I cut him off, pointing across the street.

"How could you tell?" He asks, almost confused.

"Lukis' diary, he was here too. He wrote down the address," I explain.

"Oh," he states, following me as we start towards the shop. The bell rings when we walk through the door, various waving cats greeting us.

"Hello," I say to the shop owner as we start looking at the trinkets for sale.

"You want lucky cat?" She says after a moment, offering one to Sherlock. He looks at it, then at me, before shaking his head.

"No thank you," he says politely.

"Ten pound, ten pound! Your wife, I think she will like."

"She's allergic," he lies, turning around to look again. I walk up to the counter and look at the old woman for a moment.

"He's joking," I tell her in Mandarin. "We already have one at home."

"That man of yours is very strange, you are a strong woman to love him," she replies easily with her native language.

"Thank you. I hope you won't kick us out because of him."

"I'll let it slide, just this once," she smiles. I smile to her, picking up a small cup that caught my eye. Looking at the bottom, I see a familiar character on the label.

"Darling," I say, in English, getting Sherlock's attention. "Look at this label." He comes over to look at it.

"I see, the same-"

"Exactly the same." I set it down and turn to the shop lady again. "Thank you, have a good day." Sherlock starts out the door, holding it open for me when I reach it.

"It's an ancient numbering system," he starts down the street.

"Hangzhou," I reply, speeding to catch up with him.

"These days, only street traders use it."

"Those were the numbers on the wall at the bank and the library. Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect. A one and a fifteen." Sherlock suddenly stops, and I run into his back. "Sorry."

"Hungry?" He asks, walking across the street to a restaurant.

"Are you?" I ask in return.

"No, but I need to think. It's not quiet enough out here. Let's go, I'll pay."

"I'd make you pay anyway," I mutter, trailing after him as he enters the building.


	17. Message Near the Tracks

Once sitting in a booth by the window, Sherlock holds his hands to his mouth in a steeple.

"Two men travel back to China, head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium."

"It's what they brought in those suitcases," Sherlock figures, moving his hands away from his mouth.

"And you don't mean duty free," I reply quietly.

"Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon, about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million, made it back in a week." I gasp in realization. "That's how he made such easy money. He was a smuggler."

"I reckon it would have been perfect." He looks out the window, lost in thought. "Businessman, making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same, a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff about."

"The Lucky Cat was their drop off," I figure. _If they were killed even after they finished the job, someone must have lifted something. _Sherlock thinks the same, saying it out loud.

"The killer didn't know which one stole anything, so he killed them both." I look out the window, then do a double-take to the rain covered phone book by a flat door.

"Sherlock, remind me, when was the last time it rained?" I ask him, pointing to the phone book. He turns to look, then rushes out the door. I follow closely behind, watching him try and flip through the wet pages.

"It's been here since Monday," he answers, ringing the doorbell. No one answers, so he heads to the back of the building to try and sneak in. He pulls on the fire escape, quickly running up. I try and follow, but the stairs ascend after him. Being too short to jump and get them, I head back to the street and ring the doorbell.

"Mind letting me in this time?" I ask through the door. No answer. "Yes, of course. I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one can compare to my massive intellect!" I try ringing the doorbell once more before sighing in frustration. A few moments later and the door opens, revealing a disheveled Sherlock.

"The milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Someone left in a hurry three days ago," he says hoarsely.

"What happened up there?" I ask him, but he ignores me.

"We have to find her, Soo Lin Yao," he says instead, picking up a folded envelope.

"Did they hurt you?" I ask louder, and he just looks at me.

"We can start with this." He holds up the envelope and starts walking away. I stop him and pull his scarf off, revealing a purple mark forming on his pale neck.

"Sherlock," I sigh, watching him start walking again.

* * *

"When was the last time you saw her?" Sherlock asks Andy, the museum worker, about Soo Lin.

"About three weeks ago, here, at the museum," he answers. "This morning they told me she'd resigned. Just like that, left her work unfinished." Sherlock analyzes the room as he speaks.

"What was the last thing she did on her final afternoon?" I ask, gazing at the teapots for a moment before looking back at Andy.

"She was down in the basement, putting away the artifacts."

"Great, show me," Sherlock says, waiting for him to take us down there. Once we descend the stairs, Andy turns on the lights and leads us to the storage area for the teapots.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists, a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here." He starts opening the door, and a flash of yellow catches my eye. I walk over to a statue defaced with graffiti. _Dead man. "_What is that?"

"I think we're done here," Sherlock says. "Come on, Jane." I turn around to look at him for a moment, and follow him out of the museum. "We need to get to Soo Lin Yao."

"If she's still alive," I say quietly.

"OI!" A shout makes Sherlock stop, looking at the man running closer to us. "Found something you'll like," Raz tells us, motioning his arm for us to follow. We follow to a skate park, with graffiti scattered carelessly around the structure.

"If you want to hide a tree, a forest would be the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock says to no one.

"People walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message," I notice.

"There," Raz points to a small symbol partially hidden by other graffiti. "Spotted it earlier."

"It's the exact same paint?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes."

"If we're going to decipher this code, we're going to need more evidence," I say, walking away. "I'm going to look around." I walk out of the skating structure, pulling a flashlight out of my coat pocket. My phone rings suddenly, breaking the silence. "Hello?" I say, answering without looking at caller ID.

"I'm surprised you haven't told Sherlock everything you know yet," my brother's voice says from the other side.

"I told you I wouldn't, Jim."

"Yes, you did."

"But why the Black Lotus?"

"I have my reasons."

"Thanks, Jim. Are there any other memories I should suppress, or is the secret society all you have for me this week?"

"I guess you'll find out." He hangs up without another word. I put my phone in my pocket as I spot tiny yellow dots on the boards of the tracks. I follow them until they get more concentrated, and look up. An entire wall covered in graffiti stands before me, making me gasp. I try and call Sherlock a few times, but he doesn't answer. I quickly take a photo and run back to where the others were.

"Answer your bloody phone, I've been calling," I gasp out between breaths. "I found it." Sherlock trails after me as I lead him to the wall. When we approach, I shine my flashlight on it to see a bare wall. "It was right here. Ten minutes ago, it was _here_."

"Someone doesn't want me to see it," Sherlock figures, walking towards me. He puts his hands on my temples, pulling me in a circle around him. "I need you to concentrate."

"Sherlock-" I start.

"You need to maximize your visual memory, try to picture it in your mind."

"Sherlock-"

"Can you remember? How much can you remember?"

"SHERLOCK!" I yell, making him retract his hands and step away. "I took a photograph, I'm not stupid." I pull it out and offer it to him.

"Oh," he says, grabbing for my phone. He looks at the photo for a moment before running in a different direction.

"Thanks for waiting for me," I mutter to myself. "Really, you shouldn't have."


	18. Soo Lin

"Always in pairs, Jane, look," Sherlock says, waking me from my light sleep.

"Do you ever sleep?" I mumble, looking at him.

"Numbers, come with partners," he answers. I sigh and check my watch, seeing that we were now in the early hours of the day. "Why did he paint it so near the tracks? Thousands of people pass by there everyday."

"Maybe they're trying to communicate with their people in the underground," I suggest, my eyes drooping.

"Of course. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He grabs a few photos off of the mirror. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"We are not leaving. Not now," I tell him. "I need a strong cup of coffee or a twenty minute nap. Then, we can go." He stands for a moment before putting the paper down, heading into the kitchen to make tea. He comes back in a few minutes with a mug of coffee, handing it to me carefully.

"Knock, knock," I hear Mrs. Hudson say from the door.

"Come on in, Mrs. Hudson," I tell her, smiling weakly as I sip my coffee.

"This package came for you, dear. Don't know why they rang my bell, but it's for you," she tells me, placing a large box in front of me on the table. I smile at her again as she leaves, placing my coffee next to the box and preparing to open it. I undo the two metal latches and lift the lid, but swiftly close it again.

"What is it, Jane?" Sherlock asks.

"Damn him," I whisper, running my hand through my hair. "He sent me a bloody riding crop."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm sorry, but I told you a lie earlier. It was only to prevent unwanted memories," I explain, sighing. "Growing up, my father was fascinated with bruises. He would occasionally use a riding crop on my brother and me. I hate to say it, but I think that's the reason we ended up how we are. My brother started studying, and I learned to cope with deductions." I open the box once again and pull out the riding crop. I examine it for a few moments before putting it back. "This is the one. This is exactly the one my father used."

"Why did you lie?" He asks silently before coming over and sitting next to me. He awkwardly places a hand on my back, helping me all he can.

"That little bastard," I say to myself, looking away from the wooden box for a moment. Swiftly, without warning, I stand up and take the box towards the kitchen counter. "Since we aren't eating until this case is over, we won't be in the kitchen. Therefore, I can worry about it later."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Ready to go to the museum?"

* * *

"Two men were murdered after they came back from China, and their killer left them messages in Hang Zhou numerals," Sherlock explains to Andy. "Soo Lin Yao is in danger."

"That cipher is the same as the others. They mean to kill her as well," I add, clarifying.

"Look, I've tried everywhere. Friends, colleagues, I don't know where she's gone." Something shining in the early morning sun catches my eye. "I mean, she could be a thousand miles away."

"Tell me about those teapots," I tell him, walking closer to the case.

"They were her obsession, they need urgent work. If they start to dry out, the clay starts to crumble. Apparently, all you have to do is keep making tea in them."

"Yesterday, there was only one teapot shining," I start.

"Now there are two," Sherlock finishes, catching what I was implying.

* * *

The sound of metal scraping against metal makes my ears perk up. Sherlock and I look at each other for a moment before Sherlock heads towards the workroom where Soo Lin was probably finishing her work. I hear a gasp cut through the silence.

"Centuries old, don't want to break that," I hear Sherlock say as I enter the room, turning on the lights.

"You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me," she says, watching me lean against a tabletop.

"You've been clever to avoid him this long," I tell her, thinking of Jim.

"I had to finish," she states quietly. "To finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Who is he? Have you met him before?" Sherlock asks her.

"When I was a girl, we met in China. I recognized his..."

"Signature?" I offer. She nods.

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu."

"The Spider," Sherlock and I say at the same time. Soo Lin begins to untie her shoe, pulling it off to show a small circular tattoo I recognize at once.

"Do you know this mark?"

"Yes," I answer immediately. "It's the mark of the Tong. Ancient crime syndicate based in China," I explain before getting a look from Sherlock. "You knew that? Oh, sorry."

"Every foot soldier bears the mark," Soo Lin continues. "Everyone who hauls for them."

"You were a smuggler?" I ask, and she looks at me.

"I was 15. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood, no way of surviving day-to-day, except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?"

"They are called the Black Lotus." I close my eyes and sigh, recalling a few books Jim brought home as a kid. "By the time I was 16, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England, they gave me a job here. Everything was good. New life."

"And he came looking for you," I say.

"I hoped, after five years, maybe they would have forgotten me."

"They never really let you leave," I add, absorbed in my own thoughts.

"A small community like ours, they are never very far away." She wipes away the tears trailing down her cheeks. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen. I refused to help."

"You knew him well back in China?" Sherlock asks.

"Oh, yes." She looks to me. "He's my brother." I sigh and turn away, fighting tears. "Two orphans, we had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan. The Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away, he said I had betrayed him. The next day, I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

"Can you decipher these?" Sherlock asks, pulling the photos out of his coat pocket.

"We know they're Chinese numbers, but he doesn't know the cipher," I say, cringing at my slip up.

"It's based upon a book," she starts, and the lights cut out. I start to panic as Sherlock leaves to investigate.

"My brother read about the Black Lotus as a child," I tell Soo Lin as we crouch behind a counter, trying to distract myself. "He'd tell me all about them. Is it the same book that was used so long ago?"

"I believe so," she answers as gunshots ring out.

"Stay here, bolt the door after me," I tell her, running to help Sherlock. I instinctively reach behind me for my gun, but grasp air. After a few moments, the gun stops firing. I breathe out in relief, as a single shot sounds from the room I just left. I feel my heart sink as I run back to the workroom, spotting Soo Lin lying dead on the floor and a small black paper flower in her hand. Sherlock comes in shortly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Scotland Yard is being incompetent, they need to know what they're doing wrong," I state, monotone. "And they need to know now."


End file.
